


It's You

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: The Greatest Game [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Fingering, First Time, Johnlock - Freeform, Johnlock porn, Love, M/M, Oh, Oral Sex, Porn, Sherlock has no idea what he's doing, Virgin Sherlock, but John doesn't either really, fluffy sex, it's staggering, john and sherlock have sex, kind of john's point of view, omg the porn, post-HLV, the porn, they figure it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 18:34:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1951785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yeah.</p><p>This is porn.</p><p>Lovely fluffy porn.</p><p>Johnlock porn.</p><p>The two idiots finally get it on.  Sherlock's a baby virgin who has no idea what hes doing, and John really doesn't either but it's ok.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's You

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously. I'm not kidding with the porn. So stop now if you don't like porn.
> 
> A big thanks to all the Johnlock smut writers out there for laying ground work. I hope my Johnlock porn is as unique as anal sex between two stupid men who've been in love for years can get.

John had once asked Sherlock what _really_ happened with Janine. It was in the time after Mary and Magnussen, over a few glasses of scotch. Sherlock had dismissed it, saying they were stories and Janine was well within her rights to capitalize on him, as he had used her. “It was a ploy, John. Nothing happened. A few kisses, enough to pretend. I was undercover most nights.”

John had never entirely believed him, if only because Sherlock always seemed to immediately change the subject. And that bit of disbelief gnawed at him occasionally, reminding him that there was another secret Sherlock wasn’t telling him about someone he had actually expressed clear jealousy over.

John’s disbelief is wiped away the moment he kisses Sherlock the second time.

Later, if someone were to ask John what their first kiss was like, John would say it was perfection. A culmination of years of repressed desire and emotion, expressed in the gentlest touch of lips for the briefest of moments. To an outsider it would look chaste and anticlimactic. To John, it was the sweetest surrender, the moment he finally hoisted the white flag and said, “yes. Ok,” and hesitantly knocked on Sherlock’s defenses, only to have him open the door and tentatively raise his own white flag. It was ordinary and extraordinary and familiar and new and tension and relief.

If someone were to ask John what his second kiss with Sherlock was like, he would say it was wonderful, heat and sparks and flashes of light, like a ridiculous romance novel where the protagonists finally come together. And in a way he’d be telling the truth. But in another, more accurate way, it would be an embellishment.

John leans in again, smiling a brilliant smile, and presses his lips to Sherlock’s again. He tilts his head and opens his mouth just slightly, just enough to case around Sherlock’s bottom. His tongue flicks out, gently swiping against Sherlock’s mouth. His lips taste of overly-sweetened tea and Chinese food and light and fireworks and John can’t help but shudder as his tongue presses, just lightly, trying to gain entrance and…

Sherlock isn’t moving.

John’s stomach plummets and he pulls back abruptly. Sherlock’s eyes are squeezed shut and he’s trembling slightly. John gently rubs his thumbs over Sherlock’s cheekbones once, then removes them and presses them into the sofa. He’s still leaning into Sherlock’s personal space.

“Sh-Sherlock?” He swallows hard. “Is this alright? I thought—”

Sherlock’s eyes open and John sees a storm of emotions in them. Wonder, fear, uncertainty, suspiciousness; it’s amazing that this man has the nerve to refer to himself as a sociopath.

“Yeth—yes,” His voice wavers a bit and John catches a hint of the lisp he’s so good at hiding. “Yes, John. It’s just, it’s YOU. And I’ve never…” Sherlock’s eyes cut to the side.

“Jesus, Sherlock. I’ve seen you kiss someone. Janine? Remember her?”

Sherlock’s eyes cut back to John and his nose crinkles. “Yes, but,” he lifts his arm slightly and waves, as if dismissing the thought entirely. “Not like this. That was nothing, that was acting. This is YOU, John.”

John smiles warmly. He can’t help but feel slightly tickled. A Sherlock out of his element is delightfully endearing, surprisingly arousing. “You can’t be serious. Nobody? You’ve never done this for real? Not even Irene?” John chuckles and takes Sherlock’s hands in his; they’re trembling slightly.

“I thought, a little, but she wasn’t you,” Sherlock shakes his head and swallows. “Nobody’s you. It’s YOU, John, and—and I don’t want to ruin it.”

John feels a bubble of warmth in his chest, a tinge of delight that Sherlock’s been pining for as long as he has at least, and a hint of possessiveness, all of which combine and shoot straight to his groin.

“That’s right, Sherlock.” He squeezes his hands lightly. “It’s me. It’s just me. Which is why you could never ruin it.”

Sherlock’s lips quirk slightly. “It could never be ‘just’ you, John.” He shrugs. “Sentiment.”

“’Sentiment,’” John smirks and strokes his thumbs over the tops of Sherlock’s hands. They’re so large, they dwarf John’s own steady hands. “Then let me kiss you again, yeah?”

“I don’t want to do it wrong…”

“You won’t.” John lets go over Sherlock’s hands to hold his face again as he leans forward. “Stop me if you don’t like it.”

“Joh—” Sherlock is cut off by John’s mouth. This time he opens willingly and John’s tongue is inside, probing as he forces Sherlock into the back of the sofa. He really has no idea what he’s doing, but John smiles into the kiss because what he’s lacking in technique he makes up for in eagerness. Sherlock is so earnest, so sincere and soon he’s kissing John back with equal hunger.

“Sherlock,” John pulls back just slightly, mouth still hovering as Sherlock gasps. “Breathe, love.” Surprisingly, the endearment pulls a moan from his throat as John dives back in. Sherlock’s hands are clutching at John’s elbows, his shoulders, then around his back and he pulls him forward. John climbs onto the sofa between Sherlock’s knees and pushes his fingers into Sherlock’s curls. He’s touched Sherlock’s hair before, ruffled it in good humor and stroked it in an attempt to comfort but he’s never tugged, not like this, and when he does Sherlock jumps and exhales hard into his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, Sherlock,” John gasps as his pulls his lips from Sherlock’s, presses them to the side of his face. The slight stubble on Sherlock’s cheek feels strange on his tongue, undeniably masculine but rather hindering John’s arousal, it sends a jolt straight to his groin. Because this is _Sherlock_.

“You taste like Chinese,” Sherlock pants, eyes squeezed shut as John licks down his chin, nips.

“Mmmm, so do you,” John’s mouth moves back up, stopping to suckle Sherlock’s bottom lip for a brief moment, then he nips at his nose and starts down the other cheek. He gently angles Sherlock’s head and sucks and licks down his neck. John shifts closer again and his knee presses directly into Sherlock’s crotch. He squirms.

“John!”

“Fuck, Sherlock,” John’s teeth catch his earlobe and he bites, softly. “I could eat you alive, right now.” Sloppy bites down Sherlock’s neck, his tongue running along the crease of his sternocleidomastoid muscle, a nip at his Adam’s apple. “Swallow you whole…all of you.” He grabs one of Sherlock’s hands off his back and places it on the front of his jeans as he comes back up to Sherlock’s face. He presses their noses together.

“John…” Sherlock’s eyes are wide, his pupils so dilated John can’t see his eye-freckle. A splotchy flush is creeping up his neck to meet the blush in his cheeks. John has never seen Sherlock blush like this. He’s breathing hard and his lips are wet and swollen and John has never seen anything so beautiful.

“Say I can,” John swivels his hips against Sherlock’s hand, presses his knee harder into the hardening flesh in Sherlock’s cotton pajama bottoms. “Say I can take care of you.” John is breathing hard, struggling to maintain control. “I’ve wanted to for so long, Sherlock.” His hands cup Sherlock’s face again and he kisses him, sucking his tongue into his mouth for a moment before releasing it. “Let me love you. Let me make love to you.”

“That sounds ridiculous, John,” Sherlock snorts, but squeezes John’s erection through his jeans.

“Because it is, you tit,” John laughs. “Ridiculous and bloody brilliant.” He kisses him again, deeply. “Tell me I can.” John attaches his mouth to Sherlock’s neck and sucks hard.

“Yes,” Sherlock hisses through his teeth. “But I should warn you, I’ve not…”

“Mmm…obviously.” John pulls off Sherlock’s neck and leans his forehead against his. They’re both breathing as if they’ve run a race and John is trembling now, too. “I’ll show you.”

“I don’t think you’re exactly a paradigm of experience with this, John.”

“You’re right,” John winks, nipping at Sherlock’s nose again. “I’ve never been with someone I’ve wanted so badly for so long before.” He leans in and captures his mouth again, reaching between them to gently cup the tent in Sherlock’s pajamas. It’s delightfully strange and unbearably erotic, to be touching another cock, Sherlock’s cock, like this. It sends another pulse to John’s groin and he can feel dampness where he’s leaking uncomfortably against the cotton of his pants. Sherlock keens into John’s mouth, his back arching off the sofa.

“John…”

“Bedroom,” John stands up, shifts uncomfortably against the weight in his jeans. He grabs Sherlock by the wrists and pulls him up then down to his face again. Sherlock is dizzy with arousal and sways gracelessly, tripping over John’s feet and the hem of his dressing gown. “Mmmm…careful, love. I’d hate to have to derail this with a trip to the A&E.”

“No,” Sherlock rasps, chasing after John’s mouth. He pulls him close and runs his large hands down his back, over his arse, squeezing gently.

“Shit, Sherlock,” John gulps when Sherlock’s mouth descends to his neck and bites. “Bedroom, or we’ll never make it.”

They tumble together out of the sitting room, barely missing the coffee table and John’s chair. It is terribly difficult walking when your hands are busy groping your flatmate-slash-best-friend-slash-almost-lover, and John trips on one of the chairs in the kitchen, grabbing Sherlock to right himself. His hands find his arse and he outright laughs.

“How does someone who eats as little as you have such a plump arse?” He pulls Sherlock up flush against him when they reach the bedroom door. John can feel Sherlock’s erection against his stomach and he shivers. “I want to bite it.” He digs his fingertips into the flesh.

“I want to let you,” Sherlock gazes down at him, his voice rough and an octave lower than John is used to hearing. He pulls him in for another searing kiss.

“Yes.” The door swings open and the fall inside, wrapped together. Sherlock kicks the door closed and leaves John’s arms to flip on the lamp.

“You have too many clothes on.”

“So do you.”

They’re both breathless and flushed and John crosses the space between them reaching up for Sherlock’s mouth as he pushes the dressing gown from Sherlock’s shoulders. The intensity and heat between them has increased exponentially now that they’re in the bedroom, and their kisses descended into a sort of frenzied biting, John’s tongue so far in Sherlock’s mouth he can feel him gasp for air around it. His fingers are trembling and not quite able to undo the buttons on John’s cardigan.

“Here,” John pulls back and simply lifts it over his head, then quickly undoes the buttons of his shirt, pulling it off. Sherlock is staring intensely, curls mussed and in his face, and he reaches out to press a hand against John’s chest. His heart. His long delicate fingers are cool against John’s heated skin and he shivers, then steps forward again and grabs the hem of Sherlock’s t-shirt. He pulls it over his head and Sherlock’s hands are reaching for his belt, managing to unhook it before working the button and zip of his jeans and pushing them down. John feels them snag for a moment on his erection before falling to the floor.

“John,” Sherlock’s breath hitches.

“Now you,” John practically growls and hitches his thumbs into Sherlock’s pajama bottoms and pants, shucking them to the floor. Sherlock steps out of them and looks directly into John’s eyes.

“Fucking Christ, Sherlock,” John exhales as his eyes roam over the man in front of him. He is absolutely stunning. Almost two meters of alabaster skin, so pale it is almost translucent in the dim lamp light. John has certainly seen Sherlock nude before but never like this. His pale chest is heaving, and John can feel the heat radiating from him. His cock is swollen and dark, so hard it’s almost flush against his flat stomach. The head is fully exposed, foreskin back and he’s leaking copiously. John’s mouth actually waters at the sight.

“Come here,” he pulls him close, reaches up to kiss him snaking his arms around his back. John hates the feel of those scars under his hands, but he soothes his fingertips over the ridges and holes and presses into the small of Sherlock’s back, pushing his erection against his stomach. John feels the wetness on his skin and bites gently on his lower lip. “You’re beautiful.”

“So are you, John—oh!” One of John’s hands snakes between them and wraps around Sherlock’s cock, thumbing the tip, and the other reaches down to squeeze one bare arse cheek. Sherlock practically collapses into him, and John pivots them both then pushes him until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed.

“Down,” John pushes down on his shoulders and Sherlock sits on the edge of the mattress. His hand is still gently stroking his cock. John doesn’t have much experience outside his own but Sherlock doesn’t seem to mind, if his gasps and moans are any indication of his state. Johns lips suckle gently on Sherlock’s ear as he bends over him, then he moves down his neck to his chest, kneeling between his legs. He scraped his teeth lightly over Sherlock’s right nipple and feels more fluid leak out onto his hand.

“John…”

“Shhhhh, I told you I would take care of you, love.” John stops at the silver scar on Sherlock’s chest, presses his lips to it gently. His tongue comes out and licks gently, and he feels the soft tickle of Sherlock’s sparse chest hair in his mouth. His skin tastes like clean salty sweat and he smells wonderful. “I’m so sorry,” he kisses again. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again.”

“John…” but John is already mouthing his way down, over bony ribs and Sherlock’s stomach, lapping and biting at the white skin, kissing individual freckles. Sherlock’s long fingers come to John’s neck when he reaches the patch of hair that cradles Sherlock’s throbbing erection, strangely a shade lighter than the hair on his head.   John pulls back to look at Sherlock’s cock, thick and full and positively pulsing. He brings up his other hand to lovingly cradle it. It’s strange and surreal and John really has no idea what he’s doing, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning forward and swiping his tongue across the exposed head, licking up the bead of pre-ejaculate gathered there. Sherlock tastes slightly bitter and mostly salty and John finds that he likes it, quite a lot. He closes his mouth around the tip, sucking lightly.

“Oh, GOD! John!” Sherlock’s cry is gruff and almost animalistic and John’s cock pulses in his pants in response. John pushes his mouth down slightly farther—not too far, he’s still new at this—and bobs slightly, then pulls back up to messily kiss the head again. He really has no idea what Sherlock likes, and Sherlock probably doesn’t even know what he likes, but John figures at least he could try and do what he knows he enjoys when receiving oral sex. He runs his tongue along the underside of the shaft and can feel Sherlock’s pulse against his mouth.

“Fuck, John!” Sherlock’s long fingers move to John’s short hair and tug, then he collapses back on the bed when John nips gently at his frenulum then moves to suck a testicle into his mouth. Sherlock’s scent is intoxicating, clean and heady and John is drowning in it. One of Sherlock’s legs comes up and he braces a foot against John’s shoulder and he writhes on the bed under John’s mouth.

“Mmmm, good?” John hums into the underside of Sherlock’s cock before enveloping him again, giving himself a nod of self-congratulations. For someone who’s never gone down on another bloke before, John thinks he’s doing a pretty good job.

“Yes, John. Yes...” Sherlock arches again and his nails dig into John’s scalp. It hurts but in the best way possible. “I think, I think I’m…I’m going…”

“Yes, I can tell,” John pulls off his cock with a wet *pop* and licks the pulse of pre-ejaculate that seeps out. “Not yet, though.”

“John…” Sherlock is panting, head to the side and eyes squeezed shut. John rises and ghosts his hands up Sherlock’s stomach and chest, pausing to gently thumb one pink nipple. He dips his head and licks a bead of sweat from Sherlock’s sternum, drags his mouth up to tongue his sternoclavicular notch. John takes Sherlock’s face in his hands and pulls back to look at him.

“How is it so far?” John’s eyes crinkle as he smiles warmly and Sherlock giggles. Actually giggles. It’s a deep, breathless giggle and John thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard.

“I think I like it,” Sherlock’s hands come up to John’s face as well. “So far.” He pulls John’s head down and places his open mouth at the corner of John, licking up what he thinks must be a drop of Sherlock’s secretions still on the corner on John’s mouth. He pulls back. “Can I try?” Sherlock’s eyes are wide and almost pleading.

“Yes,” John says with mock seriousness and laughs, crawling up and positioning himself to straddle Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock hooks his fingers in John’s pants—John wishes he’d worn more than old gray briefs but Sherlock doesn’t seem to mind—and John’s flushed cock springs out, inches away from Sherlock’s lips. “Come here,” John places his hand on the back of Sherlock’s head and gently pulls him forward, and Sherlock opens his mouth without reservation. “Ohhhh…fuck,” John exhales through his teeth as he’s enveloped.

Sherlock clearly also has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s enthusiastic and John couldn’t be arsed to care. He’s flying away on the feeling of those perfect lips, that smart, smug mouth, wrapped around his cock and John knows he’ll have to stop it before he comes far too soon. His vision swims and it’s only when he feels Sherlock choke and gag from going too far on his first try that John comes back to earth.

“Shit, careful, Sherlock,” He shifts his hips back, guides Sherlock’s head down to the mattress again. “

“John,” Sherlock actually feigns a pout and John laughs again, sliding his body down Sherlock’s so he’s lying flush on top of him. He had no idea sex with Sherlock could be so _fun_ ; intensity and lust and familiarity all swirling together to create an atmosphere that is intoxicating. Their cocks rub together as John positions himself and he shudders at the eroticism. Nobody has ever aroused John like insufferable lunatic in his arms. John kisses him again, then moves his lips to his ear.

“I want to fuck you,” John breathes, running his tongue along the pinna of Sherlock’s ear. He shudders and his fingers dig into John’s shoulders. “I also want you to fuck me, but tonight…I want to fuck you.” He pulls back to look into Sherlock’s eyes. “Can I do that?”

Sherlock nods fervently, his eyes wide and disheveled curls bouncing. “There’th”—his lisp is back—“there’s lube under the pillow.”

“Good,” John winks and kisses him quickly, then crawls over to dig around for the lube. His cock is bouncing against his stomach, leaving a trail of fluid on his skin. John doesn’t think he’s ever been so hard in his life. He finds it then turns back to Sherlock, stretched out on the mattress, chest heaving, legs hanging off the edge. “Christ, you’re beautiful. Put your head on the pillow, but stay on your back. I want to look at you.”

John gets off the bed to remove his pants, kicking them off his feet to God knows where. He turns back to the wild man on the bed. Sherlock’s eyes watch John with such intensity and trust as he kneels on the bed between his legs that John has to fight the urge to cry. He has never, ever in his life felt like this during sex, felt the overwhelming need to pleasure rather than be pleasured. John want’s this to be perfect for Sherlock. If he can make it perfect for him, it’ll be perfect for John.

“Bend your knees a little,” John grabs one of Sherlock’s ankles and pushes just slightly. “Yeah, like that. I’m going to put my fingers in you first, yeah? Stop me if you need to.”

Sherlock nods.

“Alright,” John flips open the lube and pours some onto his fingers. “Just relax, love. It may hurt a bit.” John reaches down and stroke into Sherlock’s perineum, pressing lightly as his hips jerk. His index finger probes lower and finds Sherlock’s hole, rubbing gently, then harder over the sphincter muscle, before pushing in. He feels Sherlock tense instinctively and gasp, fighting the intrusion of his finger. “Shhhh…” John rubs the inside of Sherlock’s thigh. “Just relax. Let me in.” John’s finger sinks in further and his cock seeps at the feeling of the inside of Sherlock tensing and clutching at him. He’s so warm. “Alright so far?”

“Yes…John…” His hips wriggle a bit.

“Now…let’s see…” John pushes in a bit more, crooks his finger. He is a doctor after all, and he knows what to look for even if he’s never had sex with a man before. Right there, past the first bend in Sherlock’s rectum, a small nub of tissue denser than the surrounding mucosa. John pushes, just lightly, and Sherlock practically jumps off the mattress.

“JOHN!”

“Heh. Found it,” John smirks, and rubs in a circle. Sherlock gulps for air, and John sees his cock jump against his belly and start leaking copiously again. He leans forward over him and licks up the small puddle, while adding a second slick finger, scissoring and twisting gently against the ring of muscle, before zoning in on Sherlock’s prostate again.

“FUCK! JOHN!” Sherlock’s head thrashes to the side, his teeth gritted. “John…”

“I know, darling.” John chuckles deviously, still circling. “I’ll show you on me, later.” He leans over and nips the inside of Sherlock’s thigh.

“John, please…please!” Sherlock cranes his head up. “Enough! Just fuck me, please…”

“Are you sure?” John’s fingers twist and press again. More pre-come oozes onto Sherlock’s stomach. His cock is almost purple, engorged and throbbing.

“Yes. YES!”

“Alright.” John kisses his knee and slowly removes his fingers. Sherlock’s arsehole twitches as they’re removed. “I’d rather not use a condom, if that’s alright. I want it to be just us.”

“I don’t have any, anyway.” Sherlock waves his hand, dismissing the idea in the most Sherlock-way possible. “Now please, fuck me!”

“Alright, calm down.” John teases, squeezing more lube into his hand. His rubs it onto his cock, then rubs a bit more into Sherlock’s hole. He jerks at the touch. “Relax again, like I told you. Stop me if it hurts.”

“Just do it John.” Sherlock demands through gritted teeth.

John lines the head of his cock up, leans forward just slightly. Sherlock is staring at him, tense, and inhales sharply as the head pushes in. John releases himself and braces the back of Sherlock’s knees inside his elbows, pushing his thighs back as he pushes fully in, slowly. It’s so tight and hot John can barely breathe. Sherlock is holding his breath as well, and when John finally slides in and is buried to the hilt, they both exhale heavily together. In tune.

“Are you alright?” John’s voice is shaking. Sherlock looks like he’s going to cry but he nods slightly.

“John,” his voice cracks.

“I know Sherlock, I know.” John releases one of Sherlock’s legs and leans toward, kissing Sherlock and stroking his cheek. He stays still for a few moments, both to calm down and to allow Sherlock to get used to the intrusion.

“John,” Sherlock simply says again, running one hand down to John’s arse, the other coming up to circle the exit wound on John’s shoulder. The leg John’s no longer holding crosses behind his back and John begins to rock, gently.

“Oh, fuck, Sherlock,” It is tight and hot and exquisite and John feels as though he could come this very moment. But he can’t yet, not until Sherlock gets off. Sherlock is still staring into John’s eyes, with such intensity that John is afraid his heart might beat right out of his chest. “I’m inside you. I’m fucking _inside_ you.” He starts moving faster, pulling back and slamming, and Sherlock huffs out a strangled laugh and squeeze’s John’s left buttock. His reactions spur John to go even faster and he shifts up on his knees slightly so he can brace himself for it, and Sherlock’s head rolls back and his breath catches in a sob.

“John!”

“Shit, Sherlock. Jesus fucking Christ.” John is slamming into him now, Sherlock quivering underneath him and gasping in response to the changed angle. John won’t last much longer, not with the incredible sensations tugging at his groin and his heart. He maneuvers to reach between their bodies and grabs Sherlock’s cock, slick with pre-come and hot with blood. “Come on, Sherlock. I’m so close…you’re so close. You first, love.”

“John,” Sherlock’s head is back, his eyes closed.

“Look at me, Sherlock,” John moves faster, his balls slapping against Sherlock’s arse, and he squeeze his cock harder, tugging. “Look at me. I want to watch your face.” Sherlock looks up and his face is twisted in pleasure and pain and it takes what’s left of John’s breath away. He looks like he’s about to cry. “Fuck. Come for me, Sherlock. Come on, love…”

“John!” Sherlock’s eyes widen as John’s hips snap against him particularly hard and he freezes, his breath catching then releasing in a sob as his entire body tenses, then shudders. John feels warm wetness on his hand and he catches it and strokes down again, wringing Sherlock’s orgasm from him as his muscles squeeze John from the inside, grip his cock and then John’s coming, fire spreading from his core up his spine and down his legs. Semen flushes up inside Sherlock as John collapses, rocking gently through the contractions and rubbing in the mess of semen on Sherlock’s belly.

“Fuck.” John breathes against Sherlock’s shoulder as the last of contractions shake him. Sherlock is still twitching around him, his breath coming in short gasps. “Fucking shit, Sherlock. That was bloody amazing.”

“Yes.” Sherlock is breathless, his chest heaving under John.

“Holy fuck.”

“Yes, John. You said that.” John feels Sherlock’s legs cross behind his back. He lets his body slump, legs straightening and relaxing. His cock is still inside Sherlock, not soft enough to slip out on its own yet and he’s certainly not going to do it. After a few breathless moments, John pushes himself up on one arm to look at Sherlock. His head is back and his eyes are closed, face flushed and neck and chest still splotchy red. His curls are a mess and damp with sweat and John really, truly has never seen anything so beautiful.

“Sherlock.” His clean hand comes up to cup Sherlock’s face. His eyes open and they look at John, wide and clear and with such adoration John is breathless again.

“John.”

John smiles first, a warm smile from his heart, and Sherlock smiles in turn. The smiles turn to giggles, and soon laughs as John leans down to peck Sherlock’s mouth.

“So.”

“So.”

“Mmmm.”

“That’s that, then?”

“Quite, I think.”

And they laugh some more.

**Author's Note:**

> See? Porn.


End file.
